


Unidentified Threat

by Beleriandings



Series: In the midst of the innumerable stars [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, battle robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange, unknown weapon of the enemy has landed on Hithlum, and is headed straight towards Barad Eithel base. Luckily, Fingon has a plan to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unidentified Threat

The young signalman leapt to his feet and saluted as Fingolfin burst through the doors of the control room at Barad Eithel base, alarms blaring all around.

“Your… your highness!” the young man blurted, sweeping off his cap and stumbling a little in his hurry to get to his feet. “It came out of nowhere, we couldn’t sight it until it had already hit the atmosphere… some sort of cloaking technology, I’ve never seen anything like it…”

Fingolfin remembered that the youth was new to his job, his uniform identifying him as a mere cadet, taking the often calm dawn hours in the signalroom along with one more experienced radio operator. _The poor boy probably fears for his job_ , he thought, brushing away his annoyance at the nervous youth. There were more important things to worry about.

Fingolfin leaned over the control board and squinted at the live video feeds, filled now only with waving grass in the dim light before Anar crested the horizon. Then he glanced back to the radar screen, upon which a single glowing dot was visible, approaching the base fast. “Have you got any visuals on the target yet?” He gazed at the screens impatiently. _Whatever it was, it must know where the autotrip cameras were, it must be avoiding them_ … “Or a heat signature, a broadcast, anything?” He frowned. “Do we know for certain it’s hostile?”

“Oh, it’s hostile alright” said the radio operator, pulling out her earpiece with a grimace. “No visuals yet. It took out three of our watch satellites on the way in, and canonballed right through the security force field, straight down to crash-land on the ground.”

Fingolfin’s frown deepened. “But can’t you track it, find the source? Surely the satellites would have recorded something before they went down, can we get a broadcast? ”

“Yes, there’s certainly data” she smiled bitterly. “We got a whole bunch of radio interference, and some very messy heat signatures, before the satellites crashed out on us. We thought it was a freak solar storm at first, so we were taking the wrong data bundles, we were just about to take the satellites into safe mode…” she shook her head apologetically. “We have just about enough to get a rough location out of. We traced its trajectory through the atmosphere. Orbit like that, it’s consistent with the thing originating on Angband, sir. My recommendation is treat it with threat level eight to ten.”

Fingolfin nodded grimly. “Right. Radio Dorthonion, see if they’ve been getting any read on it as it passed through the Ard-galen belt. But first, put me through to the scouts, and Sirion stations three, four and five.” _If it’s heading here we need aid, and if it turns towards them they need to be warned_. “Consider threat level… nine officially cosigned, and alert the generals at each of our ground bases. Set a red alert on the - ”

“Dad!” Fingolfin was interrupted as the door to the control room burst open once more, startling the poor signalman all over again. Fingon was at his side after just a moment, having neatly vaulted the control board. “The scouts report an incursion. Some sort of drone, made planetfall from polar orbit an hour ago. Is it true?”

Fingolfin nodded. “Yes, there is something from Angband, and it’s landed outside of planetport, disregarding the control zone. But you seem to know as much as we do right now, maybe more. A drone you say?”

Fingon nodded. “So we think. It’s got no life signature, no bio-print that we can detect… I was just about to fly the _Valiant_ over to base four, when I heard the news.” His eyes widened as Fingolfin’s words sank into his mind. “From _Angband_? Are you sure?”

“There’s no doubt.”

It was Fingon’s turn to squint at the video feed. The screen was a little brighter now that Anar was close to rising, but still empty, the camera evidently pointing in the wrong direction across the great, rolling grasslands at the feet of the ring of mountains that encircled Hithlum’s northern pole. Fingon gritted his teeth and let out a growl of frustration. “Let me go out and meet it. I can take the Rochagodathrim, we can encircle it - ”

“No, Finno.”

“I can do it! That’s what the program was designed for after all, land threats on Hithlum, we’ve been training hard… whatever this thing is, we can take it - ”

“No - ”

“Yes. We can blow it sky high…”

“The Rochagodath Program is still in its early stages, the technology hasn’t been tested thoroughly enough. I spoke to the engineers just yesterday, while you were training your pilots in the mock-ups…”

“Yes, but - ”

“With respect, your highness” said the radio operator, “it’s coming closer. I think you should let him go out to meet it.” She was frowning. “Look.”

Fingolfin, Fingon and the young signalman - now obviously curious - clustered around the video feed behind her. For a moment there was a hush as they all tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

“By the Void” said Fingolfin after a moment, in a hushed voice. “What… what _is_ that thing?”

Fingon shook his head. “I’ll be damned if I know.” He was staring at the screen, his eyes wide. The view was pixelated, grainy, but the creature - for it was a creature, Fingolfin thought - had finally been caught in one of the cameras. What it was though, he could not begin to say. Long and slender, but with squat little legs, which nevertheless sported fearsome claws, and somehow allowed it to run preternaturally fast. It’s strange, loping gait was unlike that of any creature he had seen before. A shining carapace, glinting in brassy gold in the grey early morning light. A lashing tail, tipped with a ball of golden spikes. He had never seen anything at all like it, and he wished he had not now.

“Whatever it is, it’s getting closer” said the radio operator grimly. “We’ve caught it on feed four, that's… fifty eight point two degrees north, seven point three degrees west. It’s moving fast, and… damn that thing!” she exclaimed, wincing as the video flickered erratically, the field of view falling to one side before strobing black and white, and then going out completely, the screen filled with static. “It’s taken out the feed!”

Fingolfin frowned. Now they had lost visuals, he felt suddenly vulnerable. “How quickly could it make it to Barad Eithel?”

“Going at that speed…” she squinted at the screen thoughtfully, though it was now filled with grey electronic snow. “A matter of hours. Maybe less. Our read on it is too inaccurate…”

Fingolfin sighed. “I suppose a space-based missile strike is out of the question.”

The radio operator nodded. “The control room on the space station couldn’t even fire without a pinpoint heading. And even if they could, we’d just be throwing a missile out into the atmosphere at something that doesn’t even have a bio-characteristic heat signature for the tracking system to lock onto. And with it potentially headed here…”

Fingolfin nodded grimly. “Okay, okay. Not recommended, I get it.”

He felt a hand on his arm. “Dad… let me go. It’s the only way.”

He sighed, looking over at his son, meeting his eye. “Finno, this is reckless. You’ll be killed.”

“No I won’t! The Program is a success, this is what we’ve been training for, and if anyone can lead them I can…”

“Yes, but…”

“Didn’t you charge me with the defence of this base, while you did the ruling?”

“Well, I did, but…”

“Then let me out there! Let me prove what the Program can do, what _I_ can do. Whatever this thing is, we can take it!”

Fingolfin frowned. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me” he muttered, and yet still he worried, glancing between the static filled screen, the blinking dot on the radar, and his son, standing there expectantly. Taking out the video feed, the speed of the thing, the suddenness of its appearance, with no warning… it smacked of an intelligence guiding it - whatever _it_ was - in a planned and deliberate assault, rather than an opportunistic strike.

_And that likely meant that whatever this thing was, it would be coming here next. The base at Barad Eithel was strong, yes, but would it be strong enough?_

“Son” said Fingolfin, with a resigned sigh. “How quickly can you get your best pilots together?”

Fingon grinned, triumphant. “We’ll be out there within the hour. We’ll blow that golden monstrosity sky high and be back at the base station before you know it.”

 _He is overconfident_ , thought Fingolfin ruefully, but he knew he did not have time to argue. “Go” he said, clasping Fingon’s arm and catching his eye. “Don’t make me regret this decision.”

Fingon smiled winningly. “Never.”

———

“And be careful out there. Remember com links with, two… no, three observation satellites are still out, so we can’t fully cover you from orbit. If you need backup, you’ll have to radio the base yourself. Make full use of the mindpool, that’s what it’s there for. If you get into trouble, pull back, you understand?”

His father’s voice was loud in his small control capsule, crackling a little on his com. “I’ve got this.” He smiled as the indicator lights turned green. “Listen, I’ve got to go, the mindpool is in just a minute and I need to be concentrating.”

He thought he heard Fingolfin sigh, even as the indicator light for the other line blinked, a soft tone filling his headset. “Very well. Good luck, Fin. See you on the other side of this.”

“Sure. Look, I’ve got the Commander on the other line, I need to go. I’ll be careful, and I’ll do you proud, Dad, I promise.”

“Good luck, Finno.”

The com clicked.

“Prince Fingon, this is Commander Aelin from platform eight.”

“Commander Aelin. Status report?”

“The target is within range, should be a quick journey at least, whatever happens after. Weather is fair and dry, though windy.”

“And the vehicles?”

“The technicians gave them a last once-over. The Rochagodath are ready to engage the pilots’ mindpool. Also, all twenty-one pilots have checked in, your highness, except for you.”

“Excellent, and my apologies.” Fingon pulled his headset down about his temples, shivering slightly at the initial coldness of the electrodes against his skin, then smiling at the comforting bleeps that it emitted, the gently flashing lights that showed the system recognised his mental fingerprint, though he was not yet connected to the other pilots. “Right. Ready when you are, Commander.”

There was a click, and the lights in the hangar dimmed, outside his narrow capsule window. “Engaging ósanwë multilink in… three… two… one…”

Fingon braced his mind for it, knowing by now the way it felt when all the other pilots’ minds brushed against his own, all connected side by side, many consciousnesses joined to form a larger one. A truly unified fighting force.

He smiled as he felt their touch, his captains and generals, the best pilots he had. He knew them all so very well, after their many hours of training. Captain Brithwen the gate guard, Melendion the former signalman turned pilot, his own childhood friend Vairon whom he had used to shoot at targets with back in the Valinor system, whose aim had always been better than his own Fingon had eventually admitted, laying aside their old friendly rivalry. Commander Aelin, amongst his father’s most trusted, who had been raised high as a reward for her deeds of valour in the perilous unshielded Helcaraxë belt crossing, all those years ago. More too, any who had shown an aptitude for targeting, for piloting, for precision attacks. He had picked them himself, these Rochagodathrim - as they had begun to call themselves - when the project had first been begun. They were those he trusted, those that he knew would always fight at his side. There was also a more stringent selection process though; they had to be able to take the mental link, to work flawlessly as a unified mass consciousness, fighting as one with their craft and with each other. The entire project was unprecedented, but Fingon was sure of the potential it held, sure as he was of almost anything.

Grimacing, he checked his black box recorder one last time, making sure it was running. Then he set his gaze forwards, ready for what was to come, knowing that his fellow pilots - and they _were_ fellows, rank meant little to nothing here, save for the practicalities of who was involved in making their strategies - were doing the same.

“Multilink successful. Mindpool activated. Prince Fingon, we wait for your command.”

Fingon nodded, flexing his fingers and slipping them further around the controls, making sure his heels were secure in the motion responsive boot clamps. “Ready to go. open the doors.”

With a grinding, clacking sound of gears and chains, the doors of the Rochagodath hangar - the top secret storage that had remained hidden for so long, disguised as a hangar for retired craft to be disassembled for parts - began to crank open. Fingon felt a frisson of excitement run through the mindpool, amongst the pilots, infectious. This truly was what they had been training for, learning to work with each other’s minds in order to fight more effectively in tandem, as much as learning the controls of their top-of-the-range landcraft.

The light streamed in, the very first rays of Anar glimmering brilliantly through the swift-moving clouds as it crested the mountains. Fingon smiled to himself, before the door indicator flashed green. “Unlocking… and… move out!”

He closed his fists on the control rein, feeling the engines firing below and behind him, even as he squeezed with his knees on the seat, more of a saddle really. The Rochagodath were so named because the controls were designed to mimic the riding of a horse, the responsiveness tuned to make the piloting of the six-legged, semi-autonomous landcraft more intuitive. This, combined with the mindpool and the firepower they carried, made the Rochagodath and their pilots the most cohesive and effective ground fighting force in the system.

Or that had been the idea, at any rate. They had not yet been tested against a real enemy.

Still, thought Fingon. That was soon to change.

The waving grasses of the plain lands of Hithlum stretched out before him as the glass corrected for the sudden glare of bloody dawn light. “ _Bad light for fighting the thing head on”_ , Fingon caught in the minds of one of his fellow pilots.

He sent a little nod through the mental link, acknowledging the worry. “ _Yes. That’s why we need to find it quickly, get around its back. Surround it, cut it off from reaching the base, then blast it with our plasma cannons, all at once. Everyone got that?”_

Many voices came back at him, except they were not quite voices, simply thoughts, bursting into his mind like sparks.

_“Aye aye, your highness!”_

_“At your command!”_

_“All for our Prince Finno!”_

_“Let’s go!”_

The great machines - surprisingly agile, with their six retractable, triple-jointed legs and fluid, loping gaits - burst out onto the plains, and joy sparked anew in Fingon’s heart, despite the threat.

“ _Does anyone have a lock on the target?_ ” He checked his navigation, even as he tugged on the controls, pulling his craft into a gallop as they reached the open planes proper, leaving behind the river and the mountains into which Barad Eithel base was built. _Good_ , thought Fingon. _The further away we can draw this thing from the main base and the mountain forts, the better_.

He saw nothing immediately, as he peered at his tiny radar screen, trying to focus despite the rattling vibrations of his landcraft. The Rochagodath, though devastatingly effective in tests, were never designed to be comfortable to pilot, he thought with a grimace. It was like riding a real horse, only with the mechanical roaring of the engines growling below, and suspension was minimal.

_“Prince, Commander, look there! Target sighted, at…”_

_“…where?”_

_“…about fifteen degrees to the left.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“It’s coming up on the radar now, look!”_

Fingon did look, squinting into the brightness before his reactiglass adjusted itself to the light levels. When it did, his eyes widened. “By the Void…”

There, looming out of the dawn mist, was a shape towering above them, a great, lumbering thing of shining segmented plates of what looked like burnished golden solar reflectors, catching the morning sunlight that had begun lancing over the distant mountains. From here it looked much, much larger than the brief glimpse of video footage he had been afforded before it knocked out the feed.

Upon the ground it cast erratically moving spots of reflected light, and Fingon winced even as a spot of glare hit his eyes. It had the shape of some sort of great creature, a lizard perhaps, he thought. Almost like the tiny ones that had sunned themselves on the palace steps on Tirion, back in the Valinor system, he thought absurdly. _But this… the size of it_ … he swallowed nervously, taking in the sweeping gaze of what he supposed were its eyes, presumably equipped with cameras and autolock trackers. Squinting, he was able to make out gun ports in its sides, and he could see its tail lashing already from side to side, ripping up great patches of earth wherever it struck the ground, its eight feet ripping up great furrows in the grass too with their prodigious claws. He frowned, even as the voices of the other pilots came to his awareness.

_“By Eru, it’s got to be the size of a Mithrim freighter…”_

_“We have the manoeuverability and speed advantage though, I reckon… we can take it!”_

_“Right you are Commander!”_

_“What fire power does it have though? I can’t get a read on it, it could have anything in there…”_

Fingon half-smiled, speaking into his com rather than over the mind link. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

On his order, the Rochagodath broke ranks, peeling off in the machine’s graceful, loping mechanical strides, in perfect synchronisation.

The long grasses swayed around them as they surrounded the creature, closing in on it from all sides. As they came closer, it lashed its cruelly spiked tail out suddenly, with unexpected speed.

_“That was a close one. Watch out for that tail!”_

_“Vairon! You okay there?”_

_“Yeah, sure. It’ll take more than that to knock me down, Prince Finno, don’t worry.”_

_“I wasn’t.”_

_“Careful of the tail though!”_

_“Brithwen, take my left will you?”_

_“Close ranks!”_

_“Whatever we do, we can’t let it near the base_.”

They were close in on it now, and Fingon could see the cracks between the great, golden plates. He lowered the transparency of his glass screen, grimacing. One moment of blindness, being dazzled by a reflection, could mean death. One of those feet would easily be capable of crushing one of their craft, even accidentally, and the pilot would likely not have time to even slam the ejector seat button…

 _Better get this done quickly_.

“Ready laser blasters” said Fingon, aloud this time, for the radio link to the base. “Aim for the cameras, up there on its head. They must feed into its navigation.” He grinned. “That thing’s a drone. If we can get it in the eyes, blind it, it might run in circles, chase its own tail…”

_“Or it might lash out and crush us.”_

_“…Let’s just hope it doesn’t do that_.”

Circling in their craft around its feet, the thing, whatever it was, blocked out the dawn light where Fingon was. He gazed up at it, high overhead. It was swinging its tail and its head from side to side now. “ _Watch out for -_ ”

He never finished his sentence, words and thoughts alike lost in a cry of alarm. With horrifying speed, the thing had flipped back a panel below its camera port, roughly where a mouth should be. Fingon had just enough time to make out more gun ports, bristling with firepower.

“ _Fingon, get out the way!_ ”

He didn’t need to be told. He jerked his controls violently to the left, sending his craft rolling, its six mechanical legs contracting, bracing him for the impact as they were designed to. It was not a moment too soon, for at that moment an enormous fireball exploded before him, from the thing’s mouth, the shockwave from the blast visible in the air for a scant fraction of a second. The ground where he had been a moment before was all ablaze. He grimaced, realising that if he had been caught in that blast it would have ignited his fuel tank, blowing him to pieces in an instant…

Yet though the manoeuvre had saved his life - judging by the roaring flames he could see seared across the confused mass of smoke and grass and golden plate armour out of his viewing window - it was not comfortable, the shock going through his whole body despite his harness and control suit.

_“Fingon! Are you okay?”_

_“Eru damn it, but that thing’s got firepower!”_

_“We didn’t know…”_

“Well, now we do” muttered Fingon grimly aloud, as he jerked the controls once more, trying to get his craft upright again, the mechanical legs unfurling once more. “ _Shoot back! Aim for the_ \- ”

His voice was subsumed once more as another blast came, a little to his left this time. He could see one of the other Rochagodath - Faelin’s perhaps, he thought - nearly take a direct hit, curling up in ball, taking a rolling fall.

_“Faelin! You okay? Major Faelin, report…”_

_“I’m fine… ah… that was a close one. Won’t let you down again like that, Prince, I promise.”_

_“Everyone shoot the damn thing!”_

_“Yes, fire at will!”_

Several laser blasts from one of the Rochagodath struck its plate armour, just below its camera ports. The blast simple reflected off its shining, golden surface, doing nothing.

Fingon cursed. “ _Aim for the cameras, or, if you can’t hit them, switch to plasma blasters. Give it all the you’ve got. Those might get through the… ah! To the right!_ ”

Another flame blast. Fingon slammed his craft forward to close up the gap, as Aelin’s went into roll as his had not so long before. Gritting his teeth, he aimed and fired both his blasters, feeling the vibration as they roared into life. The plasma blast hit the thing in the leg, sending out a gout of black smoke, setting some alarm within it blaring. It kept moving, but at least it had had an effect…

“ _Keep firing plasma blasters!_ ” he thought jubilantly, as he watched his fellows fire, dodging the balls of flame that were raining down now, igniting the grass all around them. “ _I think it’s affecting it! Watch out for the tail though…_ ”

Indeed, the great drone was writhing from side to side, lashing its tail as though it were some great animal caught amidst a swarm of irritating flies.

“ _Prince Fingon! You’re the best shot here. If we drive it towards you from behind, can you take out its eyes with your laser?_ ”

He nodded. “ _Gonna try, Commander. Let’s do this_.”

The other Rochagodathrim formed up, on Aelin’s order through the mindpool. Their exhilaration - tinged with fear, but exhilaration nonetheless - was palpable, pressed in all around Fingon’s own consciousness through the shared mind space. The adrenaline pounded in his veins, and in that moment, he thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He dismissed that thought immediately though; whatever he may feel, he was here because he had a job to do.

He squinted, quickly enabling the sights of his twin laser guns on head-up display, the highest precision weaponry that existed on Hithlum or any of the planets over which Fingolfin’s reign extended. They had been designed for fine-point accuracy bettering that of the elite orc-snipers on the gunships of Angband’s war fleet, or those at the ground base who could take out a ship in low-planetary orbit, he had heard.

All of which, or course, was not at all suited for this kind of warfare. Not like the heavy, loud plasma blasters his fellow pilots were firing all around him, at the golden monstrosity before them. But to hit the cameras - _the eyes_ , he thought - there was nothing better.

He aimed, letting the thoughts of his fellows slip to the edges of his consciousness. He remembered being taught to aim and fire, all those years ago back in the Beleriand system. He had always been a good shot, but his target was thrashing to and fro, it was moving so fast… there was so much smoke, black and thick and curling upwards from the burning grass all around, and he could barely see. He gritted his teeth. _One shot, one chance_.

He fired.

The laser gun’s fine beam shone forth, and for a moment glanced off golden armour, before the thing’s head shifted, and it struck right in the housing of the camera. Instantly an alarm blared, somewhere within the metal casing of the thing, and it ground to a halt, ceasing its thrashing. It had turned its head, he realised with a bright burst of triumph; he seized that chance. He fired again, striking its other eye, and the thing froze, eerily unmoving, halted in the middle of its thrashing.

_“Did we kill it?”_

A sense of foreboding crept over Fingon as he watched fine lines of smoke trickle from its burned out cameras, up into the sky. “ _I wouldn’t count on it. I took out its visible navigation inputs, but it may have others. And it’ll have infrared, radar, maybe other ways…”_

The pilots drew back, widening the circle in trepidation. “ _Fall back a little, not too much_ …”

The drone raised its head, letting out a blaring siren towards the sky, combined with a radio signal that set Fingon’s receiver screaming with feedback in his ear, making him wince. Its flanks were smoking from beneath its metal plates, he saw, and in places it seemed that the plasma blasters had even almost broken through, bending and warping the metal.

_“What’s it doing?”_

The realisation came to Fingon even as it began to move, standing up on the hindmost of its legs. Its other limbs each tucked into its underside, one by one. The great golden machine was now sleek and smooth as a rocket, pointing upwards.

_“It’s blasting off!”_

_“Someone stop it!”_

_“Fire!”_

_“Give it all the heavy firepower you’ve got!”_

But though they fired on it, the cloud of smoke from its rocket thrusters immediately obscured their vision. When the cloud cleared, it was merely a dot high in the sky, trailed by a rocket fuel exhaust trail lit orange-gold by the brightening dawn light of Anar.

Fingon sighed, relaxing his hands on the controls. “Damn it” he murmured into the recorder. “Must have a ship waiting up there to take it back to Angband.”

“ _There’s nothing more we could have done_.”

He sighed. “ _I know_.”

“ _Hey_ ” said Aelin. “ _At least the Rochagodath Program is a tried and proven success now, huh Prince Fingon?_ ”

He smiled, suddenly. “ _Yeah_ ” he said, turning his craft and starting back in the direction of the base. “ _Yeah, it is_.”

——-

“ "Glaurung”, they’ve nicknamed it" said Fingolfin, turning back to the intelligence centre holoscreen he had been frowning at a moment before. “The intel people, that is. Your recorder picked up enough data that they’re a bit overwhelmed, but it’ll be invaluable in case of future attacks.”

“Glad it has a name now at least” said Fingon. “Though "Cowardly Golden Bastard” would be more appropriate.“ He grinned. "Did you see the recording? The thing just turned tail and ran when things started getting ugly for it! Now if only everything Morgoth has to throw at us would be so kind as to - ”

“Finno, be serious” said Fingolfin, with a sigh. “Glaurung will be back, and the design will be improved. You can count on there being a mark two version, and you won’t necessarily be able to use the same trick next time - ”

“But we’ll know better what we’re facing next time. We have the heat signatures now, we know what frequencies it’s broadcasting on. It won’t be able to jam our communications, or maybe we can even jam _it’s_ communications…”

“Findekáno.”

“Dad, stop worrying. We have the Rochagodath Program now, it’s fully functional. If it comes again, we’ll just _beat_ it again, easy as that - ”

“Findekáno.”

Something in his voice made Fingon hesitate. “What?”

Fingolfin looked at him for a long moment. “I’m grateful to you, and I understand the value of the Program, and everything you’ve done. I hope you know that.”

Fingon tilted his head. “Then what’s wrong?”

Fingolfin grimaced, abandoning the holoscreen to stand before his son, clasping Fingon’s forearms. _I should have been there at his side, fighting for my people instead of putting my son at the very front line, against an unknown and dangerous enemy,_ he thought. _Next time I will be_. _I will be._

“I’m just…” He forced himself to look back at his son, then smiled wearily at the confusion in Fingon’s gaze. “I’m just… glad you’re okay.”

Fingon’s face cracked into a smile. “Always, Dad.”

Fingolfin clasped him to his chest in a tight hug, and felt Fingon’s arms go about him too. “Good.”


End file.
